


Learn and be Trusted

by Wahkeetcha



Category: Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters (2013)
Genre: Ben asking questions, Hansel was tormented by priests, Massive religious inaccuracies, Sibling Relationship, camp site talk, hurried witch hunting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:24:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wahkeetcha/pseuds/Wahkeetcha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While helping a town with a witch problem Ben realizes he knows very little about Hansel and Gretel. Thoughts of mistrust need to be stopped before they fester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learn and be Trusted

**Author's Note:**

> There are massive religious inaccuracies ahead. I am not a religious person but figured that in the era of Hansel and Gretel people believed things like witches, silkies, sea creatures of unusual sizes were the cause for bad things happening. This thought produced the idea that these 'old world beliefs' would be challenged by the introduction of organized religion. This fiction is not meant to poke at any particular belief system. If you feel strongly about your faith good for you, if you feel that I should be told educated on the subject, please refrain from doing so.
> 
> You have been warned!

“Do you think our children are still alive?” One woman asks; her fingers clutching a threadbare shawl to her narrow chest, stringy hair pulled back to reveal sharp and sunken features common among the poorer members of a community. Ben had just taken the woman’s statement, her eyes filling with tears at the mention of her lost child. The vast room at the local inn falls silent at the mother’s soft question, her inquiry summing up the fear that clogs the air and pours off the people gathered around. Gretel shift her weight from foot to foot in a barely noticeable display of insecurity. Hansel steps forward a bit, placing himself in the center of the group’s attention. The older sibling meets every eye in the room with a steely gaze of his own before responding. 

 

“It is not common practice amongst witches to keep the children they take around longer than necessary. If your children are still alive we will bring them back to you.” He states, the admission that many children do not survive being taken by a witch falling upon the crowd like a black cloud. Several women mixed in with the men give a sob or wail of anguish before being removed by their husbands or elder children, the despair in the room thick enough to become visible. 

 

“My brother and I will try to bring your children back to you if we can, but the longer the child has been with the witch the chances of finding that particular child diminish quickly.” Gretel informs her words hard but expression soft. Ben glances down at the names of the children who have gone missing and the period of time between the time of abduction and today, his heart sinking at the grim picture being painted by his own hand. 

 

“But, you must have faith. Not all witches adhere to this assumption.” A loud, booming voice calls from the doorway. The thin man standing in the doorway steps further into the room, his rain drenched cloak and hood are pushed aside to reveal the fine clothes of a man of station. Several of the men gathered around the table make the symbol of the cross in front of them, lending a good clue as to who this newcomer is. The town priest steps further into the bar room and now devoid of his cloaks and hood Ben can clearly see the robes and mantle of a holy man, the cross and ornaments shining abnormally bright in the dimness of the inn.

 

“Father Färber, what brings you here?” one of the younger men in the group asks, his apparent nervousness causing both Hansel and Gretel to tense up. Ben had been around the siblings long enough now to know in his gut when something just wasn’t right. With a kind nod to one of the women he’d been interviewing he rolls up his parchment and moves through the gathered crowd to take a spot slightly behind and to Hansel’s right. The older hunter twitches his fingers slightly but doesn’t turn his attention from the newcomer and the rapidly tensing crowd packed into the bar room. 

 

“My children, I wish to save you from putting your money into the claims of traveling conmen.” The priest replies smoothly, his tone remaining lightly chastising but his dark eyes narrow dangerously as he turns his attention to the siblings. Ben can see Hansel’s muscles tensing, his jaw clenching and unclenching in annoyance. Gretel regards the holy man with the same casual sneer she approaches most people with, her lips parted slightly in a soundless snarl. 

 

“The witch needs to be destroyed. Praying to your god isn’t going to help get our children back.” One of the women shouts from somewhere in the room, her words conjuring murmurs of agreement and nods throughout the crowd. The priest doesn’t falter, his calm exterior barely cracking beneath the claim. 

 

“Such an unholy creature does not exist. My flock, too long have you dwelled in the darkness of these stories. Stories produced by godless heathens such as these traveling vagabonds to take your money and advantage of your hospitality till you simply have nothing left to give before moving on to another town.” Father Färber preaches, his words causing several of the townsfolk to regard the three hunters with suspicion where there wasn’t any before. Ben stares back, his gaze not as threatening as Hansel’s or as cool and calculating as Gretel’s steely gaze but his jaw is set and his shoulders square against this new threat. It was common these days to come across a town that was split between the old beliefs and the practiced religion. Half the town would be dead set on hiring the siblings to exterminate the witch from their forests while the other half would turn a blind eye or protest loudly against the heathens within their community, often times claiming that their children going missing is punishment for their hesitation against converting. 

 

“I tried praying when my two girls were taken, I prayed several times a day and nothing has come of it besides a tired tongue and a weary heart.” The woman who posed the question earlier states, her frail body radiating anger as she stares down the priest before her, her tears flow freely as her hands ball into fists and tremble but her words are clear. 

 

“One cannot interpret His will.” The priest responds with a smile that makes Ben’s skin crawl. Around him the arguments are start, shouts of ‘heathen’ and curses are thrown about viciously. Hansel moves a bit closer to his sister and whispers into her ear. Gretel listens while he talks, his fingers brushing slightly against her shoulder before he leans back into his guard position. 

 

“We are not here to fight over religion. My brother and I have been hired to find your children and kill the witch; we will do as we have said.” Gretel assures, her voice breaking through the angry shouts and insults. Father Färber stands silently and relaxed, watching as the people in the inn settle down to listen to the hired hunter. 

 

“We know that the children have all been taken from one side of the forest. We must ask you to keep your children from the forest for the next few days while Hansel and I seek out this witch’s lair. We require no help although we appreciate the extension. My brother and I are well versed in the hunting and slaying of a witch and we wish to not see anyone else harmed.” Gretel continues before giving a slight nod to both Ben and Hansel and together they move towards the door. Hansel’s fingers dance close to the hilt of his wicked hunting knife, the deer horn hilt stained and furrowed from numerous uses as he passes the priest. It is no secret that the eldest hunter loathes priests and holy men but the reasoning behind the intense dislike remains unknown. Father Färber seems to pick up on the intense dislike as Hansel pasts and briefly touches the hunter’s leather bracer and leans in, his whisper loud enough for Ben to hear. 

 

“I pray for your heathen soul to be forgiven.” Ben, unsure of how to react remains by Hansel’s side but readies himself to stop the hunter from enacting on his hatred. Hansel doesn’t say anything for a long minute before allowing a predatory smile to break across his face.   
“Don’t hurt yourself doing that.” He growls before moving away, the tenseness leaking from his body with every step. Ben follows closely and pulls the inn door closed behind the hunters. Hansel is muttering darkly under his breath while Gretel kicks at a loose cobblestone. 

 

“Well, that was intense.” Ben remarks after a few minutes, his breath misting in the cool air. Gretel gives a long sigh and glances up at the darkening sky, her expression troubled. 

 

“It was going fine until that priest showed up.” Hansel remarks, running his fingers through his hair before shaking his arms out. 

 

“Now what?” Ben asks cautiously, fingering the edge of the parchment he had been taking notes on. Hansel and Gretel don’t respond for several long minutes, their silence beginning to make the apprentice a bit nervous when finally Gretel responds, her voice tired but still even. 

 

“We were hired to do a job; we’re going to do it.” And Hansel simply nods in agreement before walking in the general direction of where Edward was waiting just beyond the town border. Gretel watches silently as her sibling moves off without her. 

 

“Umm… Gretel? Why did Hansel…” he trails off as the woman shoots him a scathing look, her expression dark and unreadable. 

 

“Never mind..” he scrambles, already heading in the direction Hansel is walking. Ben chews on his bottom lip in frustration. He had been traveling with the siblings for several month now and even though he fought, bled and nearly died beside them the apprentice knew next to little about their personal lives. Hansel and Gretel asked questions about his life and in turn taught him their trade but whenever he asked about their lives the siblings simply refused to answer. Gretel would give him a steely look and Hansel would change the subject. 

 

How was he expected to trust people who refused to share anything about themselves? 

 

“Ben wait.” Gretel calls softly and the teenager stops and turns his head slightly to watch the woman’s approach. Clad in the protective leather jacket, the buckles reflecting the meager light from the town’s standing torches. Always composed and serene Gretel’s expression is somber and pinched, exhaustion and frustration pulling on her face and even in the skimpy lighting Ben can see the frown lines furrowing across her brow. 

 

“It’s not as simple as you think, for us to tell you things.” She provides, falling into step with the teenager easily. For a few strides the sound of their boot heels striking the cobblestones is the only noise filling the street, the majority of the residents still in the inn behind them. 

 

“I understand that and it’s not like I am asking out of my own curiosity. I just… I feel like you two know everything about me and I know absolutely nothing about you or Hansel.” Ben expresses the hammering of his heart becoming painful against his chest as Gretel pulls him to a stop with a gentle but firm hand on his elbow. The frown cutting her beautiful features causes his heart to double its attempt to break loose from his chest. 

 

“Do you trust us Ben?” she asks, never one to mince words of intentions. Ben licks his dry lips, suddenly aware of how tight her fingers had become around the joint. 

 

“I-I do. I really do, but sometimes it’s like traveling with complete strangers.” He grinds out and quickly tenses his muscles and gives a jerk of his shoulder and a twist, using Gretel’s grip on his elbow to bring the woman in closer to his body and trapping her fingers. Gretel’s mouth produces a feral smile and Ben holds her gaze for a minute longer than needed.

 

The sharp pain in his crotch breaks the contact quickly

 

“You are right.” She agrees and gently pats the teenager on the back while Ben works on recovering from the blow, bent at the waist but resisting the urge to grab at his genitals. The apprentice recovers quickly, the blow having glanced off the side and straightens up before taking a few deep breathes. 

 

“We will remedy that tonight, over dinner.” Gretel remarks and gives a pull on Ben’s shirt sleeve, indicating with her head to keep moving. Ben follows obediently, his heart finally returning to its normal beating pattern but anxiety curls in his stomach. Hansel and Gretel rarely put out information about themselves and are rarely chatty around a campfire beyond Hansel sharing a folklore or two before turning in or Gretel dictating the proper maintenance of a weapon or witch hunting process.

It will be an interesting night at camp to say the least.  
The campfire was blazing by the time Gretel and Ben made it back to camp, the sun fading below the horizon. Although the fire is blazing brightly and Hansel is steadily working his way through skinning a young Boar Edward managed to take down. The large troll is reclining a few feet away from the carcass, the large wooden bowl in his thick fingers filled with the tender bits from the kill. Ben watches as the older hunter works, his fingers nimbly guiding the wickedly sharp blade between the muscle and hide of the headless body, the abdomen split wide and hollowed out. 

 

“Ben, could you take this bucket and get some water?” Hansel asks, nudging the wooden pail with his boot, eyes fixed on his task. Wordlessly the younger man sets down his journals and papers and swipes the bucket of dirty water from the forest floor, careful not to spill any of the contents. The pathway to the river is wide and clear of obstacles and it doesn’t take long to dump the fouled water, rinse the bucket then refill it with the clear and fresh liquid. 

 

“He deserves to know.” Gretel hisses softly as Ben approaches the camp, her body tilted close to her brother who is still working at removing the hide. Ben replaces the bucket near the two before scrambling away, not wanting to intrude on the conversation. Instead the apprentice digs through the sack of dry goods in the cart, his fingers brushing over several padded jars of preserved fruits and vegetables, hardened loaves of bread and smaller packets of spices. Ben purses his lips, pulling out the small jar of salt and several packets of dried herbs. 

 

“Hand me the salt and some of those apples would you?” Hansel dictates, his stained hand suddenly appearing before the younger man. Ben jumps and curses the other, his hard slamming against this chest once more as he hands over the requested items with a glare. Hansel simply smirks at the teen’s discomfort and juggles the three less bruised apples idly for a few minutes before fixating Ben with a steely stare. Ben swallows thickly, his stomach churning at the look. 

 

“Anything we tell you does not go into your journal.” He asserts by jabbing a thick and calloused finger into Ben’s narrow chest, the impact of the blunt digit painful but not damaging. Ben acknowledges the man’s words for what they really are and a swell of nervousness curls in his stomach. 

 

“Yes sir.” Ben responds thickly, his head nodding so quickly Hansel fears it will topple of his neck. The older hunter gives a deep sigh and flicks a finger in response at the boy before returning to his task. In his gut he knows keeping too much of their story from the boy wasn’t helping to build trust but old habits die hard and Hansel had learned long ago not to reveal too much about he and Gretel’s pasts. Even after Muriel revealed their true parentage the older sibling refused to talk about it, his thoughts remained closed even to his sister. 

 

“Alright Edward, think you can put this though the pig and put it over the fire?” Hansel calls to the large troll and the massive creature pushes himself up with a grace Hansel didn’t think possible for a being so massive and lumbering. With impossible ease the troll easily inserts the pike and with Hansel’s help situates the boar over the fire, soon the smell of roasting meat fills the entire camp. With their evening meal cooking and the unusable parts of the boar taken off to be buried by Edward the three hunters settle down around the blaze, each performing their own pre-hunt routine. Gretel is taking apart and cleaning her crossbow, methodically wiping down each cog and mechanism with an ease born from continual repetition. Hansel also settles himself down against a fallen log and spreads out the soft leather canvas that houses his small tools and oils, the modified rife slowly coming apart with each shift of his hands. 

 

“What do you think we are dealing with Gretel?” Hansel asks after a while, his eyes on his work and fingers moving rapidly. Ben glances up from the notes he’d taken in the tavern and also looks over at the woman.

 

“Given the accounts from the townsfolk and the general nature of the abductions I am going to guess a Bog dweller.” She states, eyebrows drawn into a narrow V as she works. Hansel gives a grunt in response while Ben returns to his cross-referencing. If the townsfolk weren’t spinning tales (they often do) then the majority of the children had been taken while they were out searching the woods for various items. The particular area a number of children disappeared from was marshy and soft, the ground known to look solid but swallow a grown man without so much as a trace of his demise. In some circumstances the unstable ground could be blamed for the missing children, but the claims of the same type of activity occurring for several generations with varying numbers points to a possible witch in the area. 

 

“The area just east of the town is where the majority of the children were last seen.” Ben informs the group, his fingers tracing along the small felt circles marking where a child once stood. 

 

“Her dwelling is probably further into that thicket area then.” Hansel proposes as he lifts the rifle and sights along the barrel, his head cocked to one side as he tweaks various areas of the weapon. Ben watches as the older man nods and reloads the weapon before carefully rolling up his cleaning tools. 

 

“How are we playing this?” he asks as he moves into a standing position. Joints crack loudly as the hunter paces over to the cart and tucks the roll away before leaning his entire upper body into the cart before pulling out several more types of weapons and gadgets. It had amazed Ben the first time he helped Hansel inventory the items in the old wagon, the massive amount of machinery and weaponry rendering the teen speechless before Hansel simply laughed and clapped his narrow shoulder. 

 

Now however, Ben isn’t shocked when Hansel pulls out a collection of wicked looking devices before pulling on a pair of thick leather gloves. The snare wire is basically invisible to the naked eye but is wickedly sharp and deadly, the hair thin cables cut into flesh like a heated knife through butter. 

 

“We scout it out; see if we can find its lair or some sign of a witch in the area. Like Ben said earlier the marshy land could play a big role in what is happening to this town.” Gretel replies easily, her attention moving between Ben and her brother for a moment before returning to the crossbow on her lap. 

 

“Why do you hate priests?” Ben suddenly blurts out, the words tumbling from his mouth before he can even think about how to address the subject. Hansel looks up quickly from his task and narrow his eyes a fraction, mouth pressed into a thin line as he simply looks at Ben. Heart hammering loudly in his chest the teen resists the urge to curl in on himself under the scrutiny. ‘He will not respect you if you don’t show him you are worthy of his respect’ Gretel’s words float in the back of his mind from a conversation they had not long after Ben joined the siblings. At that point Hansel tolerated him simply because Gretel demanded it and while the man was never overly cruel the icy way he regarded the teen kept Ben off kilter and weary of him. Squaring his shoulders and jaw the teen returns Hansel’s almost predatory gaze with (what he hopes) a solid and stony expression of his own. Gretel hums softly to herself as she works at cleaning the weapon, clearly drawing the line between her relationships to the two of them.

 

“I never said I hated priests.” Hansel responds after a few moments of returning the teen’s stare before looks back down at the wire he’s working at untangling, gloved fingers flicking a chunk of something off the slight line. 

 

“Your whole body language changed when he arrived.” Ben counters, still watching as the older man works. Hansel doesn’t respond right away, his discomfort with the situation written clearly on the lines of his face and in the way he holds himself. Ben, ever the observer catalogs the change and swiftly points it out. 

 

“Obviously something about Father Färber causes you to tense up and shy away from the topic, just as you are currently doing. I thought I was going to have to hold you back from slugging that man when he said he would pray for you.” Ben counters, smartly rolling up the map and replacing it in the water proof canister. 

 

“He’s got you there Hansel. Just tell him, what’s the harm in it?” Gretel fires off at her sibling, a small smile gracing her lips as she enjoys her brother squirm under the questioning. In her gut she knows it is cruel to force her sibling into a situation that clearly makes him uncomfortable, but the days where it was just the two of them traveling, hunting and working together are over. Hansel needs to allow himself to trust and to also be trusted by someone other than Gretel. 

 

“I—“ he pauses for a long minute, eyes distant as he collects his thoughts before answering “I am not a believer of anything that says I have to be on my knees.” He finishes firmly, jaw tight. Ben watches the man, playing his words over in his head. His mother was a woman of faith, her whispered prayers could be heard filtering through the thin walls of their small house, the hacking cough interrupting her words that she would utter every night and morning. She believed highly in sitting in the church on a Sunday morning, signing when her lungs would allow. Even when she was laying in her bed, pale, sick and gasping for air she took comfort when the priest waved his hands over her and spoke the Latin she never learned to understand. 

 

Then, when she passed the town Church refused to allow Ben to bury her in their yard because he couldn’t afford it. 

 

Even when he begged them, offered to dig the hole and build the marker himself. 

 

They still turned him away; they refused to lay to rest his mother in the one place that brought peace to her daily suffering. Instead Ben was forced to inter his beloved mother in the unblessed ground of a kind farmer just outside town who took pity on him – and his last few coins. But he did what he could and would go weekly to the spot with the simple cross along the edge of the farmer’s field and simply stare at the marker, no prayers crossing his lips. 

 

“That is not the only reason Hansel.” Gretel hisses, drawing Ben from the gloomy thoughts. Hansel is still calmly untangling and recoiling the thin wire, his dark eyes locked on his task and jaw set in a stubborn grit. Gretel shakes her head and mutters a dark curse before slamming home the last section of her crossbow, her agitation clear and pinpointed. 

 

“That is not the only reason my brother dislikes priests Ben. Although he refuses to say more.” She starts and Hansel’s head shoots up from his work and his eyes narrow dangerously but Gretel simply allows her lips to twist into a sly smirk before she refocuses on Ben. “Hansel was terrorized by the local clergy when we were still children.” 

 

“Terrorized? That’s how you sum that up?” Hansel snorts into his chest, still focused on his task. Ben looks between the two, hoping one of them would continue the tale. “And if I remember right, you were harassed just as much.” He counters finally and Gretel gives a short, sad laugh. 

 

“No dear brother, you indeed took the brunt of their abuse.” She looks over at her older sibling for several long minutes before settling back against the tree and fixating Ben. 

 

“We had escaped the witches’ candy house and stumbled into a small township along the river several days later. A kindly couple—older and with grown children of their own took us into their home and allowed us to stay with them. It was with them Hansel and I worked to forget the ordeal of the house and dealt with the numerous outcomes of the experience.” She pauses as Hansel gets up and bastes the roasting boar before turning the pike on the holders, setting the fire crackling as fat and juices rain down on the hot embers. Hansel settles himself back against the downed tree he had claimed earlier, his fingers working at sharpening the impressive hunting blade he keeps in his boot. The soft shhhnick of polished steel crossing over the rough stone setting an undertone to the story Gretel is working through. 

 

“Obviously one does not simply recover from time spent as a houseguest of a witch. I was a temperamental child, prone to nightmares and violent episodes.” She smiles at this and Hansel; Ben notices can’t help but share in the smile—not a lot has changed then. “My brother… he suffered a different kind of abuse. The witch was cruel in her attempts to force him to consume the candy and treats, Hansel had several broken teeth and the sugar sickness was becoming more prevalent daily. The family we lived with, they were nice people and took good care of us but no one could relate to our experience with the witch and her candy house.” Gretel sounds sad as the story becomes more personal. Ben can visibly see the glamor of their lives slipping away—had watched it chip away into a harsh reality of never settling, always fighting off creatures and only getting meager amounts of money or goods for their troubles. 

 

It was a life built on a foundation of pain and suffering, a life the siblings learned to adapt to and use to their advantage. 

 

“Their best resolution was to listen to the local priests for guidance. For Gretel it was mainly lessons in humility and learning to be demure, dependent upon the male for every need. For myself I was sent to the priests directly, the idea that I was being possessed by the witch causing them alarm.” Hansel’s sharp features twist into an ironic smirk before settling into a stony expression, his lips pressed tightly and jaw tight as the grip on his hunting knife chases the blood from his knuckles. 

 

“I was never this bad off… with the sugar sickness. As a boy I figured out what I needed to avoid; keeping myself from going into a spell. Gretel helped me and monitored everything and through this I managed to live several months without a single spell. That changed when in the priest’s attempts to ‘rid me of the sin inside’ they deprived me of the routine. You have seen what happens when I am late for my injection.” Hansel states, the calm rasping of the knife against stone falling silent. Ben risks a glance over at the man and notices his gaze faraway as he stares into the fire. Gretel shifts her shoulders against the tree and waits patiently and Ben takes comfort in knowing he isn’t pushing the man into anything. It was one of the first things the teenager noticed about the older man, if he was pushed into something Hansel would balk, refusing to listen to the order. It was a narrow line Gretel walked when trying to convince her older sibling to do something. 

 

“When” he stops and clears his throat with a harsh cough before continuing, voice narrow and edged. “ My body betraying me was one thing, but the treatment I received only caused the sickness to worsen. Instead of helping me the priest and several of his followers forced me to recite prayers while my body twitched and shuddered, kneeling before them like some dog.” Hansel bites off the last word like a curse and throws himself upward, the hunting blade disappearing into his boot before stalking off leaving Ben and Gretel to watch his retreating form melt into the darkened woods. Ben stares down at the largest stone in the fire ring, his thoughts turning inward as he begins to blame himself for making the older man upset. He picks at some of the taller sprigs of grass at his feet and tosses them carelessly into the fire. 

 

“Don’t blame yourself Ben.” Gretel calls softly as she maneuvers herself closer to the fire and turning the roasting meat, the flames leaping up to lick at the rapidly cooking meal. 

 

“I am sorry… I didn’t mean to cause him to become upset.” Ben retorts shyly and Gretel simply clucks her tongue at him. 

 

“If Hansel allowed himself to remain upset at every little thing he would be grey and in the ground by now. He agreed to answer whatever questions you had and in doing so takes responsibility for the outcome of answering. Don’t worry, my brother doesn’t hold grudges and doesn’t remain upset for long.” The woman reassures while cutting off a small hunk of meat from the boar, hissing at the burn of juices before popping the morsel into her mouth. 

 

“For a man who doesn’t eat enough to keep a bird alive, he sure knows how to get the most flavors out of an animal that naturally tastes of dirt and piss.” She smiles, licking the cooling juices off her long fingers before handing Ben her knife to cut his own hunk. Ben’s stomach gives a loud gurgle, his dark thoughts long forgotten as the tender meat with its tantalizing smell finally hit his mouth. Gretel hands him a worn and beaten up clay dish, the surface easily cleanable and Ben hands back the knife. Ben sucks the juices off of his fingers while holding one of the plates for Gretel to put the carved portions on, her work flawless and nimble. 

 

“Some lessons from those days kept. I know how to carve up a beast as well as any butcher.” She croons and stabs a hunk of flank meat. 

 

“Can I ask…” Ben trails off, worried to continue inquiring but the desire to hear the rest of the tale gnawing at the back of his mind. Gretel sucks on a piece of cartilage for a moment before dropping the pale colored structure onto her plate. 

 

“The priests had him for three days before they returned him to the house, stating that the devil had been cleansed from his body and he was safe to be amongst the people. When my brother returned to me he was worse off than when he left. Hansel ceased to be for almost a week after, the sugar sickness taking hold with a ferocity that almost killed him several times. We had to force him to eat, which caused him to fight back. His mind wasn’t in the right place in those times; he would hide himself away and simply drink water and refused to take food. Dark times… luckily Hansel doesn’t remember a lot of what went on and I have only told him the facts. My brother has a knack for blaming himself, the burden of my survival and happiness falling on his shoulders alone.” She smiles sadly then and Ben kindly looks away so the battle hardened woman can wipe furiously at her eyes. Although he had many more questions Ben couldn’t bring himself to ask any of them. Hansel and Gretel had shared enough with him for the night and he didn’t want to push any more. 

 

“So, a Bog witch.” He changes the subject and knows he made the right decision when Gretel’s expression changes quickly and she launches into the new topic with vigor. Eventually Hansel returns to the camp and carves off a hunk of meat for himself before interjecting his own wisdom and opinions on the matter. The air around the camp changed rapidly from the depressing sense of unwanted attention to the energy of anticipation for tomorrow’s hunt.  
The morning arrived bone cold with a heavy frost layering the area beyond the smoldering ruins of the fire. Ben sits up and stretches and yawns, noticing quickly the thin layer of frost that had collected in the folds and nooks of the material. With a groan the teen rubs his hands into his eyes, clearing away the last bits of sleep before looking around the campsite. As usual Hansel’s bedroll is already rolled up, his blanket folded neatly while Gretel’s items are askew and balled up. Edward was rumbling away, his deep snores gradually growing lighter as the Troll slowly wakes. Early on in their travels the three humans learned to never wake the large being, the reaction to having his name called only slightly less violent than shaking him. It wasn’t much of a problem however, Edward –as most Trolls apparently- are in tuned with the rising and setting of the sun and he wakes up on time without trouble. 

 

“Coffee.” Gretel mutters darkly as she steps back into camp from the direction of the river, her long dark hair tightly braided back in her typical battle ready fashion. Ever the early risers the siblings would begin to pack up their gear and start cooking a simple breakfast before the sun even presented itself. Hansel hands his sister a roughly pounded cup of the steaming dark brew wordlessly before scooping four bowls of a warm grain cereal. Ben stands and stumbles around his bedroll with a shiver, the chill cutting into the teen without the protection of the blanket. 

 

“Ben, you will take the Long Shot.” Hansel states around mouthfuls of the flavorless gruel, spoon scraping the wood as he works at getting every last bit of the chunky sludge. Ben gives a nod as he finishes rolling up his things and retrieves his own bowl. The Long Shot is an impressive weapon, the barrel of the rifle measuring beyond his height and meant for the user to be laying down with the barrel supported by a tripod. It was decided by the siblings that Ben would be their ‘man in the wings’ when they went off to do battle. Usually when they found the dwelling Hansel would instruct the teen to an area where the rifle would be put to good use and set it up for him. Lately though he would simply tell the teen which weapon he would be using and let Ben choose his own places and set himself up for the shot. 

 

Ben blinks the spoon halfway to his mouth

 

Oh. 

 

Gretel is smirking behind her steaming cup and continues to sip at the brew silently. Ben dares a glance over at the older man but finds Hansel’s expression guarded, revealing nothing. 

 

“Shoot anything that moves?” he asks coyly

 

“Well yeah kid, that’s the plan.” Hansel counters a sly smirk curling the corner of his mouth. 

 

“Got it.” Ben assures and happily finishes his breakfast, excitement curling in his stomach and flushing his body with warmth. The fact that the siblings rarely shared stories of their time before they became hunters isn’t the measure of their mistrust in Ben, simply their way of not allowing the memories to crowd the job they do every day. Hansel trusts him to take the Long Shot and have his and Gretel’s backs and Gretel trusts Hansel’s decision. 

 

“It took him long enough.” Gretel scoffs

 

“If that flash went off any brighter I think I might have been blinded.” Hansel counters 

 

“We should be careful not to give him those moments out in the field.” Gretel states

 

“Never know, it might come in handy. Lure them in and BAM Ben gets a clue and they’re all blinded.” 

 

“Ha ha, you guys are so funny.” Ben mocks

 

“We are. We’re just a gaggle of laughs.” Hansel sniffs seriously and Gretel gives a bark of laughter before tossing something at her sibling which Hansel ducks easily and counters with a chunk of earth. Ben watches the exchange and can’t stop the wide smile breaking across his face.  
In the end the Bog witch went down in a snarling mess of claws, boney prominences and flaking skin. The dwelling was a glorified snake hole in the ground; only three children were recovered with the rest indiscernible amongst the bodies of their fellows. Ben distracted the three surviving children while Gretel and Hansel worked to roll the witches corpse back into the dwelling, her decapitated head – crossbow bolts where her eyes once were—was tossed in behind it. Hansel, grim faced and all business quickly mixed up the accelerating fluid and threw the glass bottle into the dwelling, the fragile vessel shattering upon impact, releasing the mixture to burn the hellish place. The trip back to the town saw Ben cradling a pale haired little girl against his chest, her tiny fingers fisted into the teen’s jacket. Hansel was slightly ahead of Ben balancing another little girl on his shoulders, answering question after questions as the child chatters away. Gretel walks along beside Ben, her long fingers held in the grip of a narrow little boy with dark brown hair and simple clothing. Upon reaching the town parents began to flood the street, the shouts of those overjoyed to have their children back overwhelmed by the sobs of those who didn’t return. The three hunters step back and watch the scene, Ben regretting that the families wouldn’t have the closure of burying their children. Hansel and Gretel show no emotion as they watch with twin expressions of neutrality. 

 

“Where are the bodies of those that didn’t survive?” one of the older women calls out from the crowd and Ben notices with a sharp pang of regret that it is the same woman who challenged Father Färber in the tavern room. 

 

Her children are resting amongst the bones of their playmates

 

“We had to burn the dwelling as well as the witch’s body. The remains are still in the dwelling.” Hansel responds, his expression clam and serene for a man covered in grime and dirt. Blood is seeping slowly from a slice by his ear and another on his neck. 

 

“You dare keep these families from burying their children?” Father Färber suddenly shouts, his face tinged red with outrage. 

 

“Their bones were picked clean of anything that would allow their families to identify them and in a pile. You need a body to bury.” Ben retorts icily, annoyance and rage building in his stomach. How dare this man berate Hansel and Gretel for leaving behind the bones? In his gut the teen knows that if the siblings could have they would have collected the remains and brought them back to their families. Ben walked with Hansel after a witch killing as the man shouldered the bodies of two children they were too late to save, the corpses stinking on his shoulders through the town to place the bodies in the hands of their father. 

 

“A body is but a vessel right? It should not matter where the body rests as long as the soul is where it should be.” Ben continues, heart aching with the memory of his mother’s body resting amongst the tall grasses of the farmer’s field. 

 

“It is unholy ground. Those children’s souls will never find solace in the arms of the lord.” The priest grounds out and Ben’s vision goes red. He snarls out a curse and launches himself at the smug priest but doesn’t reach him. Hansel strong arms the teen back toward his sister and Gretel pins his arms behind his back, whispering words into his ear in an attempt to calm him. Hansel regards the priest coolly for a moment before flicking his gaze around the gathered crowd. Tear stained and dirty faces of the three survivors peer out from the protective embraces of their loved ones while mothers cling to their husbands or each other. 

 

“The whole place is being burned, the bones, the dwelling and the witch. It is my understanding that fire cleanses the sins of those lost. We burn witches because that’s how you kill them, we destroy the dwelling so that another creature doesn’t take up residence. To bring back your children would have meant moving their bodies and disrupting their resting place. An undisturbed resting place assures the spirit will find their way to where they should be. If we had removed the bones and brought them back… your children would never find their end and be forced to walk the earth.” Hansel clarifies, his words loud enough for everyone present to hear them. Older women in the crowd nod and shout agreements, the ancient belief that once a body has been settled it is unwise to disturb its resting place still holding true in the face of an organized religion. 

 

“Fire cleanses does it not? By your belief it is used to expunge evil from the body of one believed to be infected with sin.” Hansel asks, leaning in close to the priest. Father Färber barely nods but his slight answer is all Hansel needs to continue. “By burning the bones of those children I am relieving their souls of any sin that would keep them. I was once burned in an act to remove the sin.” Father Färber’s expression darkens and Gretel tenses, one hand dropping quickly to the pistol at her side. Ben has calmed down enough and twists out of Gretel’s strong grip. 

 

“Your soul is dark with sin.” Father Färber states with an aristocratic air and Hansel simply allows a predatory grin to split his face. 

 

“Not just my soul. I see the darkness every day, walk through it and come out the victor. I am walking sin.” He smiles and then promptly slams his head into that of the priest, the man’s body crumpling boneless to the street. Hansel glances at the crowd and while some of the townsfolk are horrified a larger number are silently pleased. 

 

“We will be leaving.” Gretel announces loudly and several purses of coin are tossed up from the crowd. Hansel stoops to gather up the money before spinning sharply on his heel and sharing a smug smile with Gretel. The three hunters turn the corner just outside of town and Hansel gives a curse before rubbing his head. 

 

“Damn his head was hard.” He complains and Ben simply chuckles, accepting his cut of the money happily. There are still many questions that he wants to ask and perhaps someday he will get around to asking them but for now, he’s content with just being a part of their lives. 

 

As unglamorous and hard as it is

End


End file.
